


You (Plural)

by Octinary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: The English language does not differentiate between the second person singular pronoun 'you' and the second person plural pronoun 'you'.  This can lead to some unfortunate misunderstandings while you are trying to plan your Christmas holidays, especially if you are Geralt, noticing that your girlfriend and your best friend are getting closer every day, or you are Yennefer, noticing that your boyfriend's longstanding relationship with his best friend is actually a romance not a bromance, or you are Jaskier, noticing that, while the sex is everything you ever dreamed of, it can really suck to be the third wheel to your best friend and his unbelievably attractive girlfriend.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 50
Kudos: 175
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection, The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	You (Plural)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elder-flower (elder_flower)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for [@elder-flower](https://elder-flower.tumblr.com/)! You suggested maybe something where someone is feeling insecure about their place in the relationship and the others reassure them and I decided to go with everyone feeling insecure about their place in the relationship and the other reassure them, because go big, or go home, right? XD I hope this meets your expectations (or at least makes you smile) and that you had/are having a wonderful holiday!
> 
> Many thanks to [Sternenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sternenstaub) for letting me bounce ideas off of her and figuring out why I was stuck in the middle of it and [Kya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeakerblue) who beta-ed this for me!

“Tell him I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Yennefer springs it on him when they are both lounging together in bed in a post-sex haze after Jaskier had called dibs on the first shower. Given the mind-blowing quality of the activity the three of them had all just engaged in, as well as the fact that it is only early October and Geralt still has to navigate both cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving with his foster family (he drew the short straw this year) and Ciri’s Halloween costume (she is twelve, she’s not allowed to go as a sexy anything no matter what her friends are doing!), Christmas is the furthest thing from his mind. Unable to switch gears that quickly, all he manages to do is blink at her and respond with a bleary, “What?”

Yen, still shimmering with a fine sheen of well earned sweat, raises one dark eyebrow and looks unimpressed. Her mind has always moved quickly and she has a tendency to grow frustrated easily when the people around her can’t keep up. “Jaskier. He does Christmas things. He has Christmas plans.” She crosses her arms and breaks eye contact to stare lazily at the billowing curtains. They’d opened the window earlier, in the heat of the moment as it were, but it was starting to get a little chilly now. “Tell him I don’t celebrate it.”

“Hmm.” Using it as an excuse to stall for an answer to her request, Geralt obligingly goes to close the window. They’ve been together a year and a half now, long enough for him to become well acquainted with Yennefer’s tendency towards preemptive avoidance of any situation she doesn’t feel comfortable in (i.e. any situation she doesn’t feel in complete control of). Still, he finds her desire to avoid this particular interaction with Jaskier sits like an indigestible lump in the pit of his stomach. He hasn’t mentioned it, mostly out of fear that mentioning it would make the two of them self-conscious about it, but watching them together, he had thought they were getting along a lot better. 

The first night he brought her to the house he rented with Jaskier, they had sniped at each other like rival teenage girls vying for homecoming queen and Geralt had worried that it would never work out. He couldn’t imagine actually being in a relationship long term with anyone who hated Jaskier. But, to his unending gratitude and surprise, it was actually Yennefer who, months later, had suggested Geralt just get over himself and ask Jaskier if he wanted to have sex, something he’d been too shy to try despite desperately wanting it ever since they had been teenagers together. And after a month of Geralt splitting his time between their rooms, it was Yennefer who had asked if she could watch them together. Everything from that point had evolved organically, from Yen eventually slipping into the bed with them, to Jaskier and Yen’s first tentative kisses and touches, to tonight when Geralt had enthusiastically watched his best friend take his girlfriend apart in the best way possible. Geralt wants to keep going in that direction. This feels like a step backwards.

Slamming the window down with more force than was strictly necessary (the damn thing had a tendency to stick), he realizes that luckily there is an easy solution to this though: Jaskier already knows that Yennefer celebrates Christmas. Last year, on his and Yen’s first Christmas together, he had needed Jaskier’s advice when it came to finding a gift for her. Returning to the bed and sliding back under the covers, he keeps the pleased tone out of his voice as he mutters, “He, uh, he might already know that we both sort of do.”

“Ugh.” She smacks him in the bicep. “I should have known you would never have bought me perfume on your own. You turn your nose up at anything stronger than Ivory soap.” She doesn’t mention that Jaskier had pegged her tastes perfectly with that gift nor that it is one of her favourite scents: soft lilac with a hint of tart berry. She wears it almost every day, and Jaskier, observant as he is, has had to take that as the only thanks he’ll ever get for it. Now, in this bed, smelling of the three of them together, she bites the inside of her cheek for a second, the tiniest tell that she is a touch uncomfortable. “Tell him that you were mistaken: I accepted your gift last year since you had gone to the trouble of buying me something, but I don’t usually celebrate it.” Geralt opens his mouth to argue, but Yennefer presses on. “And don’t tell me that he won’t make a big deal of it because I can read people and he’s the type to fall hard for the whole,” she waves a hand vaguely to encompass the entire coming season, “thing.”

Geralt only huffs in response. She isn’t wrong. Jaskier loves everything to do with Christmas: caroling, decorating, gift giving, visiting friends and family, baking, or at least eating other people’s baking. While Yennefer is more outgoing than Geralt, she is hardly a social butterfly, and it can be a lot for the normally introverted. But, he also usually goes home for the holidays. Before Yennefer and Geralt were a thing, Jaskier used to invite Geralt to come back with him every year and, many times, Geralt had taken him up on that offer. It had always been nice. 

Jaskier has a very traditional family and their time with them had typically played out almost like one of those sappy Hallmark movies: cookie decorating, a big dinner, stockings, a log fire, a midnight candlelight service at church on Christmas Eve. Although, thinking about it now, as much as he loves Jaskier and wishes it could be different, he can’t really see how ‘the couple I fuck sometimes’ would fit into that idyllic scene. “He goes home, Yen. I mean, yeah, he’ll probably want to put some decorations up around the house, but that’s sort of his prerogative. He does live here too. You don’t have to help or anything. It should be easy to stay out of his way.” He pauses, wondering if he should add that he thought it would be nice if they could do something small, just the three of them, before Jaskier went home.

He leaves it a second too long though and Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Just… tell him. Alright?”

“Tell me what?” Jaskier, one towel wrapped around his waist while he rubs at his hair with another, appears in the doorway, startling them both. Yennefer effortlessly turns her little jump of surprise into deliberate motion however, and makes for the shower herself. Jaskier moves out of the way to let her pass with a wistful smile and a semi-sarcastic bow before plonking himself onto the edge of Geralt’s side of the bed to finish drying his hair. He smiles openly, still a little sex-drunk. “Tell me what, Geralt?”

In bed, Geralt adores nothing more than being trapped between Jaskier and Yennefer. Like this, though? Not so much. “Nothing,” he murmurs, and rolls over to pretend to doze until he feels a gentle hand in his hair and hears a soft, “Good night,” and Jaskier goes back to his own room.

*

The topic doesn’t come up again until early December. (The Thanksgiving turkey had been fine, if a little dry, but the stuffing more than made up for it, and Ciri was ultimately allowed to dress as Xena: Warrior Princess after the skirt had been modified to comfortably reach lower than portrayed on the television show. Jaskier had even taught her how to do the war cry and Pavetta had semi-jokingly told Geralt he was going to get visitation rights to his goddaughter revoked until the tween stopped terrorizing the neighbourhood with it, but it had apparently been a big hit at school.)

“Fine! Fine! I’ll ask!” Jaskier is on the phone with his mother and pacing the living room while Yennefer is late coming home from work and Geralt is busy making spaghetti for the three of them. The small house is mostly open concept, and the only thing really delineating the kitchen from the living room is an old grey chesterfield, so it isn’t hard for Geralt to hear Jaskier’s half of the conversation. “Of course I want- No, no, it’s not that. I will. I will. I will, I promise! Okay. Okay. Yes, I know. Love you too.” With an over dramatic sigh he tosses his cellphone onto the coffee table and collapses onto the sofa as if it were a fainting couch and he was the female lead in some period drama. “I swear that woman thinks I’m still ten sometimes.”

Geralt smirks. “Well if the shoe fits.” He takes a taste of the sauce. It’s missing something, but he’s not sure what.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” Jaskier peaks over the back of the couch, wit primed and ready to fire back. “If you think I’m ten that really raises some very concerning questions regarding what we do together in bed. Should I be checking under your mattress for a well worn copy of Lolita, my friend? Or maybe- mmph.”

Geralt shoves the sauce covered spoon into Jaskier’s open mouth and raises a brow inquisitively.

Jaskier pulls back off the spoon, licks his lips and swallows. “Needs more salt.”

“Hmm.” Geralt returns to the stove and shakes some into the pot before tasting it again. Jaskier, as usual, had been right. He has always had good taste. Which is something Geralt does not say out loud since it will inevitably prompt Jaskier to tease him about his choices in bedpartners. They’ve both had a fair number, especially through college, but fewer of Jaskier’s have been arrested for felonies. Yennefer, Jaskier likes to joke, smile bright and teasing, will undoubtedly join those ranks when she finally snaps and, to be fair, probably deservedly, kills someone. The smile in Yennefer’s eyes when she’d playfully quipped back that Jaskier was wrong, because she will never be caught, still makes Geralt’s knees weak and a little ball of warmth coil in his chest.

It slowly sinks to a nervous knot in his gut though as he stirs the sauce and thinks about Jaskier’s recent dating habits. While Yennefer may be par for the course in terms of Geralt’s paramours, Jaskier has been uncharacteristically subdued in terms of seeking out new partners these past few months, ever since Yennefer had joined them in bed. The one conversation Yennefer had prompted them to have before they slept together the first time had not made any mention of Jaskier being singularly faithful to Geralt or Yennefer, yet the man humming softly to himself on the couch seems disinclined to seek companionship elsewhere as long as he has them. The unspoken hope that Geralt harbours, that maybe the three of them could be enough for each other, flutters in his ribcage. Although, cold reason tries to interject, it is just as likely that Jaskier is too busy with work to go on the prowl, or experiencing a period of lower sex drive, or finally looking for something more lasting than his usual two week flings. There is really only one way to know. Geralt clears his throat, working up the courage to ask. “Jaskier?”

“Mm?” Jaskier peaks over the back of the couch again.

“Trouble at home?” he chickens out.

“What?”

“You sounded like you were having an argument with your mom.”

“Oh! No, no. Nothing like that. Just… Christmas planning stuff.”

The topic reminds him of his exchange with Yennefer two months earlier when she had asked him to tell Jaskier that she didn’t celebrate Christmas. He has not done so. He’s sort of stubbornly nursing the hope that if he just pretends it never happened, Jaskier will bulldoze Yennefer into some small celebration. Uncharacteristically, and disappointingly, Jaskier has not made any such plans yet. He hasn’t even gotten the decorations out, and usually they are up the second the clock ticks over from November 30th to December 1st. 

With a twinge of regret, Geralt wonders if Yennefer did say something to Jaskier herself after all and opens his mouth to ask that when he’s interrupted by the door slamming open and Yennefer storming in full of righteous fury. “The two-bit, low down, money grubbing, heartless, piece of shit!” She kicks off her heels with a fury and throws her keys into the little glass dish near the door with a violent clink.

“Is this the same piece of shit from yesterday, or a new one?” Jaskier grins from the couch. He loves hearing stories from Yennefer’s work almost as much as she loves hearing the gossip from his. Geralt mostly just finds them both exhausting. The opera company where Jaskier works as a tenor is a veritable web of gossip and machinations where allegiances seem to change on a daily basis and who you are in with directly affects the size of your role (and therefore the size of your paycheque). Yennefer is a minor partner in a major law firm and as near as Geralt can tell it’s as cutthroat as every episode of Suits has ever led him to believe. As an industrial mechanic, Geralt spends more time with big machines, compressors and pumps and engines, than he does with people. He has no idea where the both of them find the strength to get up everyday and willingly wade into those worlds. Jaskier has been waving off Geralt’s concern for years, insisting it was just the life of an artist, and the one time he had asked Yennefer, she’d stared at him for a heartbeat with intense purple eyes before looking away and murmuring something about how she always thrived in adversity and that anything worth doing was hard.

“A new one!” she exclaims in the present. “And you won’t believe it! He- Is that spaghetti?” Yennefer is distracted mid-rant by the smell of dinner.

There is a small table with three chairs ensuite to the kitchen, but they eat on the couch like usual, Geralt sitting between Yennefer and Jaskier as they split a bottle of wine, while Yennefer tells them about the latest asshole she has had the misfortune of meeting. She’s on a roll, and Jaskier is egging her on, so Geralt can’t find an opportune time to interject and bring up the Christmas issue again. He has just decided that it isn’t really that important if they don’t get to it tonight and he can find some time later this week to talk to Jaskier, maybe privately, when Yennefer finally winds down and Jaskier ruins that plan.

“Oh! Before I forget! I already know what you’re going to say, but apparently I’ve been talking about you too much lately and my mom made me promise to ask, so here goes: Do you want to come to mine for Christmas?” His tone is flippant, but he drowns the rest of the wine in his glass after asking.

“Really?” The word escapes Geralt’s mouth before his brain has time to head it off. It’s more than he could have hoped for, not only that Jaskier does feel the same way regarding their undefined unofficial polycule, but that his parents would welcome it. He has a momentary vision of the three of them, together, curled up under the big afghan on the sofa in Jaskier’s parents basement watching The Muppet Christmas Carol before reality crashes back in. The invitation isn’t for both of them. It can’t be. The invitation was for a singular you: Yennefer. Jaskier would have started talking more about Yennefer after she moved in this past spring. As expressive as he is, from the very tone in his voice when he speaks her name, his parents probably think there is something between the two of them, which, well, there is. 

She, as Jaskier’s assumed girlfriend, is the one who is being invited back to meet the family. And just like that, the vision abruptly shifts to Jaskier and Yen, snowflakes in their hair, on their way back from church on Christmas Eve. Jaskier and Yen giggling together at the antics of his younger cousins the next morning. Jaskier and Yen huddled together under the big afghan that, despite him never actually living there, nevertheless smells like home to Geralt. They make a dashing couple in his mind, just the two of them.

His reverie is ended by a sharp pinch from Yennefer on his left and she almost imperceptibly narrows her eyes at him. “Actually, I’m not that much of a Christmas person, and I wouldn’t want to bring down the mood, so you can just-”

“I know, I know.” Jaskier cuts her off, waving away the rest of her explanation. “You want to spend it alone. I get it. Don’t worry. I just promised I’d ask.” Jaskier stands, stretching. “Anyway, that wine has gone straight to my head so I think I’m going to make an early night of it. See you in the morning.” Then he is up and gone to his room, feet light on the stairs.

“Good night.” Once Jaskier is out of sight, Yennefer glares at him again for failing in his appointed task and forcing her into a somewhat awkward conversation, but soon sighs and lets her head fall to Geralt’s shoulder. She pulls her legs up onto the couch and swirls the remains of the wine in her glass around, seemingly just to enjoy the play of light on the surface of the deep red liquid. There is a moment of comfortable silence.

Which Geralt decides to ruin. “You could go you know.” It’s dumb: Yennefer pretending she doesn’t celebrate Christmas. He knows why she’s doing it, beneath her icy exterior is a warm heart that would feel guilty leaving Geralt alone in their tiny house over the holidays, but it’s not like it’s the first year he would spend them on his own. And, as Jaskier’s best friend since high school, he’s had years of warm Christmases with Jaskier’s family. It seems unfair to deny Yennefer that experience. Both of them had been given up to the state by their parents, but while Geralt had been placed in a stable foster home for most of his youth, Yennefer had remained in an orphanage. While Geralt had had a foster father who cared for him individually, Yennefer had had the cold comfort of impersonal, professional care. She deserves something warm. “It’s corny, Jaskier’s family Christmas, but it’s also sort of nice. They’re very welcoming. You might like it.”

As soon as he had started to talk, Yennefer had pulled away and, businesslike, finished her drink. “Do you really see that working, Geralt?”

Stubbornly, Geralt pushes on. “It’s not like in the beginning. The two of you-”

“I’m going to bed.” Yennefer doesn’t even entertain his argument. She stands and brings her dishes, and Jaskier’s abandoned ones, to the sink before heading to their room, evidently closing the issue and leaving Geralt to follow at his leisure. By the time he joins her, still feeling guilty that Yennefer would pass up the chance to have a storybook Christmas out of pity for him, she is asleep.

Stubbornly, he brings it up several more times when the two of them are alone, but she resolutely refuses to discuss it. Still, three weeks later, the evening before Jaskier’s flight, he notices her little attaché case tucked in beside Jaskier’s larger pile of suitcases at the front door as he goes to lock it for the night and smiles. He is, perhaps, a touch hurt that she hadn’t mentioned that she had changed her mind about going with Jaskier to him, but he is the one who told her to go in the first place, so he doesn’t rib her about it when he joins her in their bed. He just kisses her dark curls and tells himself that knowing that they will be happy together is enough for him.

The morning finds him calling around, trying to figure out what to do with himself for the holiday though. Yen, still in her pajamas, joins him at the kitchen table just as he gets off the phone with Pavetta. She lazily pours herself a cup of coffee and Geralt has to repress the urge to tell her to get a move on. The cab Jaskier called to take them to the airport will be here very shortly. He knows Yen likes to move at her own pace, but this is pushing it even for her. Instead of nagging her though, he texts Vesemir, asking if the old man has the space for another plate at his dinner table this Christmas.

Apparently confident that the plane will wait on her pleasure, Yennefer sips from her mug. “Something wrong with Ciri? You don’t usually call Pavetta this early.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No. I was just seeing what they were doing for Christmas. Apparently they are already at Calanthe and Eist’s.”

“That’s nice,” Yen murmurs, and starts flipping through the paper. “Jaskier almost ready?”

“He slept in a bit, but it should work out.” Geralt stares incredulously at her, eyes darting between the door and the stairs to the second floor, where he can hear Jaskier stomping around finishing his morning routine.

Noticing the attention, she puts down her drink. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you be,” he gestures to the door, “getting ready?”

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I have some time.”

A car horn honks outside and Jaskier curses loudly, crashing down the stairs in a flurry of limbs. He throws the front door open and yells, “Give me a minute!” before turning desperately to Geralt. “Please stall. Just a minute. Take the bags out really slowly or something!” He dashes back upstairs without waiting for an answer from Geralt while tossing a, “You're the best! I love you!” over his shoulder.

Geralt stands and goes to collect an armful of bags. “Seriously, Yen. You better get a move on.”

She stands and Geralt assumes she is going to finally dress but when he returns from the first trip to the taxi, she is standing there in the entryway with an exasperated look on her face and her arms crossed. “What are you talking about?”

Before Geralt can answer, Jaskier is back down the stairs and bustling past her to the bags. “Thank you! You’re a real lifesaver, you know. My hero, as always! Now if you can just grab the duffel, I’ll- Wait.” He picks up Yennefer’s attaché with a look of confusion on his face. “This one isn’t mine.”

“It’s mine.” Yennefer says and takes it out of his hands.

“You didn’t even tell him?” Geralt can’t keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. It’s one thing to not admit to Geralt that she had changed her mind, but to not tell Jaskier was ridiculous. Had she even purchased a plane ticket?

“Tell me what?” The car outside honks again and Jaskier wedges himself between the two of them to yell, “Just a second!”

“She’s going with you.”

“She’s what?”

“I am not.” Yennefer clutches the bag to her chest, as if worried that Jaskier or Geralt are going to take it away from her, or as if she needs a shield between them and her. “I’m going to Triss’.”

“You’re leaving Geralt alone for Christmas?” Jaskier’s voice does the high-pitched thing it does when he’s upset that none of them like, and it’s Yennefer’s turn to look surprised.

She sets her jaw and tips her nose up the way she does when she is getting combative. “Geralt’s going with you.”

“What?” Geralt honestly doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Why would you think that? I don’t even have a bag packed.”

“There were eight other bags here when I dropped mine off last night!”

“And they are all Jaskier’s! You’ve seen his wardrobe.”

“Hey!” Jaskier interjects in defense of his packing habits, but gets no further than that as the cabbie has now left his vehicle and is approaching the front step with menace in his eyes. Jaskier shoves the duffel at him, buying Yennefer the time to continue.

She bites at the inside of her cheek, only somewhat stalled in her attack. “I would be fine on my own, you know. I just thought, Triss doesn’t celebrate Christmas anyways and she always needs a hand over winter break with the library so I might as well-”

“Yennefer, darling.” Jaskier gently grabs her shoulders and meets her eyes. “I need you to start making sense. Geralt’s staying here, with you. I asked you both to come back with me for Christmas and you both said no, you wanted to spend it alone with each other. Which I get. I do. You two are a couple. You have to do what’s right for you.”

“I only said I wasn’t going!” Yennefer’s voice was rapidly approaching the pitch of Jaskier’s high whine. “You and Geralt have been doing Christmas together for years. I couldn’t ask him to- I wouldn’t expect him to-” She can’t seem to find the words for exactly what she wants to say. “I know he would rather go with you then skulk about here with me!” Her eyes flash violet fire and meet Geralt’s over Jaskier’s shoulder. “And I don’t need your pathetic pity, dragging me along as a third wheel.”

“Yen,” Geralt shakes his head, sad that she has so badly misunderstood the situation. “You were never going to be a third wheel. He was asking you to go, not me. I know you two... well... you’ve been getting along really well recently. I’m not blind. I can see what’s happening. Jaskier’s family want to meet you, Yen, and given what you mean to each other you should-”

“Were you even listening?” Jaskier outright squeaks. “It was you plural! I wasn’t inviting only Yennefer. I wanted both of you to come!” Jaskier whirls between Geralt and Yennefer. “Why are the both of you so sure I was only inviting one or the other of you?”

They both raise a brow in response to that, but it’s Geralt who answers. “So you’re telling me you told your family you are dating the both of us?”

“Dating?” Yennefer whispers the word quietly.

“Or whatever.” Geralt can feel himself flushing.

Jaskier doesn’t respond verbally, just drops his hold on Yennefer and seemingly unconsciously opens and closes his mouth a few times, lost for words. It’s answer enough.

“Hey! Meter’s running!”

At the top of his not insignificant lungs, Jaskier bellows, “Give me a goddamn second!” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “So Geralt thought Yen and I were leaving him alone, Yen thought Geralt and I were leaving her alone and I thought you two were leaving me alone and instead of talking about it like adults so we could work it out we all decided to just be melodramatic martyrs and bow out and as a result we are now all going to spend Christmas by ourselves?”

There isn’t really anything to add to that, so Geralt just turns to Yen, who won’t meet his eyes.

Jaskier sighs and grabs the last of his bags. “I always thought The Gift of the Magi was a stupid fucking story. O. Henry must be rolling in his grave,” he mutters as he brushes past them. He stomps most of the way to the cab before turning back. “I just want to say...” He seems to think better of it though, and, defeated, the tension seems to drain out of him as he shakes his head. “No. Sorry for the misunderstanding. Have a good Christmas, you two. I’m sure you’ll work it out.” And then he gets in the cab and drives away.

They both stand in silence in the doorway for a minute, unsure of how to proceed. Yen finally shivers in the cold morning air, so Geralt closes the door and pulls her into his arms. “You really thought we’d leave you alone?”

She scoffs at him. “You literally thought we’d do the exact same thing to you so don’t go all patronizing on me and-”

“Yen.” He kisses the top of her head.

“You’ve loved him forever!” She finally breaks. “How am I supposed to compete with that? I thought… I thought if you could just have each other once, get it out of your systems, then you would both get over it. But you didn’t! It just fucking grew!” She pushes herself out of his grasp to pace the living room. “And then I didn’t want you to get over it! You’re so… You’re so good together.” She crosses her arms and pouts, although she would never admit it. “You make a very dashing couple, you know.”

He had never thought about him and Jaskier like that, before Yennefer brought it to his attention. Well, never outside of idle daydreams. It’s entirely possible that neither of them would have ever worked up the courage to pursue anything if Yennefer hadn’t suggested it. And for a second it’s overwhelming - the knowledge that she not only gave him herself, but the only other person he’s ever wanted. And, especially after years of feeling unfounded jealousy towards every person flitting through Jaskier’s life and stealing his attention, he’s surprised by how much he wants Yennefer to have Jaskier too. “I thought the same thing about the two of you: how good you look together. Laughing. Gossiping. Playing.”

“Jaskier doesn’t even like me!”

“He does.”

“He does not!”

“He does.” If there is one thing Geralt is confident he knows, it is what Jaskier looks like when he is smitten with somebody. Well, unless that somebody is Geralt himself apparently. “And you like him. Don’t you?”

She stares at him for a moment, but can’t seem to bring herself to refute that. He can see the physical change in her when she accepts it. “I can,” Yennefer starts, determined, as is her way, to fix this immediately, by sheer force of will if necessary, “I can tell Triss I’m not coming. She made ambitious plans for what she could get done over the break when I told her I would help, and I’ll never hear the end of it from her, but she’ll survive without me. Call Jaskier. We can get a flight tomorrow. I can charge it against the company card, and we can-”

Geralt’s phone dings, throwing off her momentum, and he holds up the message for her to see with a sigh. “Vesemir’s already bought me a ticket for a flight to his place this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Yennefer visibly deflates.

He browses the flight details quickly; he actually doesn’t have that much time before he’ll have to leave for the airport. “I’ve got to,” he starts towards the stairs, but turns back after he is two stairs up. “You could- I can ask Vesemir and we can-”

“You already said Eskel was at his place. And he’s got three new boys he’s fostering, doesn’t he? You’re probably sleeping on the couch as it is. Go.” She waves him on. “Triss will be here to pick me up in an hour anyway.”

He packs quickly, but Yennefer is in the shower when he is finished and is not out by the time he has to leave for the airport.

*

Geralt is the last one back to the house after the holidays. While Vesemir had, at the drop of a hat, paid for his flights, he had also, once Geralt had arrived, immediately put him to work. One of the new boys that Vesemir has taken in is learning to drive and he had taken out the garden wall with Vesemir’s battered old Ford pick-up. Between Leo, the much chagrined wall destroyer, himself and Eskel (Lambert was at his partner’s family’s this year) they had managed to repair it during the nebulous week between Christmas and New Year’s. It was comfortable, familiar work, with comfortable, familiar people, but it had done little to mollify the ache in his heart. Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier had all texted and called each other, both one-on-one and as a group, but no one had seemed to want to bring up the reason they had been limited to electronic communication. The tension has grown to a point where coming through the front door and seeing Jaskier and Yennefer sitting together on their couch, splitting a bag of popcorn and watching Die Hard (and arguing over whether it met the criteria for a Christmas movie), feels like a physical relief. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier chimes brightly at him, and pauses the film. “Welcome home! You look tired.”

“Mmm.” Yennefer hums contentedly and shimmies over, making a space between the two of them on the couch. “Have a seat.”

Geralt drops his bag and flops down between them. “Good to be back.” The tension that had momentarily lifted quietly and firmly settles back down on his shoulders. Now they are going to have to have a real conversation.

But Jaskier continues lightly, “So how was your trip? Good weather for the flight? Mine was delayed two hours due to weather on the way back. It was a nightmare. But my stay at home was very nice. My family’s doing well and it was wonderful to see them. Anna’s youngest has just started teething, so she kept everybody up, but it’s not like the kids were sleeping on Christmas Eve anyway. Before you came in, Yennefer was just telling me that she and Triss had a lovely time and managed to finally get the back room cleaned out, and-”

Or they could not have a conversation, Geralt supposes. It’s safe like this, comfortable even, to just let Jaskier fill the silence with prattle and they can all nurse their wounded pride and pretend that they really wanted to spend Christmas on their own with their respective friends and family and everything could go back to the way it was before. Except the more Geralt thinks about it, the more he doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were before. There had been a brief shining moment after Jaskier had asked them to come with him, before Geralt’s own stupid assumption had robbed him of it, when he had had a vision of more. Of the three of them. And if he wants that, even wants a chance at that, he isn’t going to get it by making the same mistakes that had led to the misunderstanding in the first place.

“It was awful,” he interrupts Jaskier.

The other two freeze for a moment before Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know. You had to build a fence. You are so hard done by.”

“No, not that.” Geralt waits until he has both of their full attention. “You weren’t there. I missed you. It was awful.”

Yennefer lets out a sigh of commiserate relief, buries her head in his side and wraps her arms around his middle. “I know! It was so stupid! I get one vacation a year and I volunteered to work over it? I mean, Triss is a good friend, but I hate the library! We should have been together.”

Geralt puts one arm around her and goes to put his other around Jaskier, but he deftly dodges it and stands with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I knew you two lovebirds would figure it out. Well, that’s my cue to turn in I think. I’ll just leave you to get properly reacquainted. Although I will gently remind you of the house rule of no sex on any public use furniture. Good night.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond to that as Jaskier turns and walks towards the stairs. After the conversation with Yennefer before he left for Vesemir’s he had been pretty confident, if still nervous, that Jaskier felt the same way they did. To be so sounded refuted stings more than he is willing to admit. Yennefer squeezes him sharply, obviously trying to prod him to say something to make Jaskier stay, but he is not going to beg. If this isn’t what Jaskier wants, he’s welcome to walk away. Geralt feels a bit like the floor has fallen out from under him. Or like he might start crying, something he hasn’t done while sober in nigh on a decade.

“Of, for the love of God, you are both such idiots! You plural!” Yennefer interjects quickly, stopping Jaskier.

He turns back to where she has lifted herself, barely off of Geralt’s side to have this conversation. “What?”

“You plural! We both weren’t there. He missed us both. That’s what he said. He was talking to both of us, not just me. And I meant we three should have been together. That’s the problem with English: no distinction between a singular and a plural second person.” She tucks her head back into Geralt’s midsection. “It would have been nice to spend Christmas with Geralt, but it would have been perfect if it could have been the three of us. Together. So come here and sit down. Moron.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier turns back to him, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“I’d do what she says. Yennefer always has a habit of getting what she wants. And,” he adds, a little quieter than the previous joking tone, “she’s pretty good at figuring out what I want too.” And then, even quieter than that, “More than anything.”

“I’d like that too.” Jaskier’s voice is, if anything, somehow quieter than Geralt’s.

There is a moment of awkward silence, like they don’t know how to do this when there are real feelings involved instead of just bodies, when Yennefer finally teases, “So, how was your Christmas really, Jaskier?”

“It was a nightmare!” Jaskier wails and flings himself back onto the couch, on Geralt’s other side, tucking his head onto Geralt’s shoulder and finally letting Geralt’s arm fall around him too. “Everyone was there and the house was full but it still felt empty somehow without you both there and everyone else smiling just made me think about the smiles I wasn’t seeing and-”

“Can we never do this again? Can we just agree that we all want to be together, not two sets of couples with one overlapping or one couple and one extra or three individuals?” Geralt asks, before Jaskier gets too sappy and starts getting on Yennefer’s nerves.

“Deal.” Yennefer agrees quickly, holding out her right hand.

“Deal.” Jaskier grasps it over Geralt’s lap.

“Good.” Geralt, from his preferred position of directly between the two, hugs the both of them.

*

“Ooh, baby do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth. They say in Heaven, love comes first. We’ll make Heaven a place on Earth…”

“Why,” Yennefer’s voice from the backseat cuts off Jaskier’s falsetto singing, “in the name of everything holy do you have an 800 song playlist if you are just going to listen to that one over and over again!”

Geralt, from his position in the front passenger seat, can see Jaskier smile. “Uh-uh. You know the deal. It’s a fifteen hour drive to my parent’s place. Split evenly, that's five hours each. Driver picks the music. Navigator keeps them awake. Backseat sleeps. And I’m driving now.”

“Ugh!” Yennefer moans and buries her head underneath her pillow. She’s spread out across the whole backseat, which is probably not strictly safe, but when Geralt had tried to argue that point Jaskier and Yennefer had just met each other’s gaze and shook their heads in a solidarity that Geralt had learned in the last year not to argue with. “Why don’t we switch the driving order then? I’ll take the first shift instead of you and then I will actually be tired and can sleep while you’re driving the last shift and not have to listen to this nonsense?”

“Hey! Belinda Carlisle is a classic!”

“Not very Christmassy.” Geralt can hear the sulk in her voice.

“Do you want me singing Christmas music?” Geralt can hear the threat in his.

“No, that won’t work.” He cuts off the fight before it really gets started. “Jaskier drives first because he’s got to sing tonight at the Christmas Eve service. We’re only going to get there a few hours before it as it is. He’ll need to rest.”

Jaskier takes his eyes off the road to beam adoringly at Geralt. Geralt gestures firmly back at the road. The weather isn’t so good that he can afford to not pay attention.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me go to church.” He can hear her shuffling around in the back seat, trying to get comfortable. “You’re not religious at all.”

“It’s not about religion,” Jaskier answers quickly. Geralt knows he’s been asked this by almost every single person who has ever met him.

“Let me guess,” Yennefer doesn’t let him finish. “It’s about tradition?”

“Fuck no. It’s about me getting to lead the Quempas. If I don’t do it, that pitchy bitch Valdo Marx gets the job. Like I’m letting that happen while there’s breath in my body.”

Yennefer giggles from the backseat. Jaskier is good at making Yennefer giggle. It is one of Geralt’s favourite sounds.

It’s a long drive and Geralt is uncomfortable in the small car even in the front seat. The weather is supposed to be miserable as well for the whole trip, which will slow their travel pace and stress them out. Between their various work schedules, they’ve only managed to get three days off in a row too, so almost as soon as they arrive they will have to turn around and head for home, begging the question of whether the trip is even worth it. Still, tonight, Christmas Eve, they will walk back from the service in the snow and curl up on a couch together, under an afghan that smells like home, in Jaskier’s parents’ basement and watch The Muppet Christmas Carol. A couch which, as Jaskier’s mother helpfully informed them when Jaskier explained their relationship, folds out into a bed that can easily sleep three. There isn’t anywhere else in the world Geralt would rather be.

The warm feeling that knowledge engenders bubbles up, until he can’t contain it anymore. “I love you,” he says when it overflows. And then quickly adds, “Plural,” because the English language is tricky sometimes and you can’t be too careful with something this precious.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on tumblr ([octinary.tumblr.com](https://octinary.tumblr.com)) if you want to come say hi!


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